conspire more thoroughly to lacerate
2017年06月15日
Nellie Pennington directed the destinies of the table at which Gallatin sat. Nina Jaffray was on his right, Larry Kane beyond her, Coleman Van Duyn on Mrs. Pennington’s left and Jane Loring opposite. Nothing could possibly have been arranged which could the feelings of those assembled. Gallatin saw Jane halt when she was directed to her seat, he heard Nina’s titter of delight beside him, caught Larry Kane’s glare and Coley Van Duyn’s flush, but the stab of Jane’s eyes hardened him into an immediate gayety in which Nina was not slow to follow. Mrs. Pennington having devised the situation, calmly sat and proceeded to enjoy it. Good breeding, she knew, made a fair amalgam of the most heterogeneous elements, but she gave a short sigh when they were all seated and each began talking rapidly to his neighbor, Jane to Larry Kane, Nina to Phil and herself to Coley reenex facial.
It was at the end of the third dance when Jane, on the arm of Percy Endicott was on her way to the terrace for a breath of air, that Bibby Worthington slipped a note into her fingers. She excused herself and took it to the nearest electric bulb. She knew the handwriting at once. It was in Nina Jaffray’s picturesque scrawl.
“Jane, dear,” it ran. “I must see you for a moment about something which concerns you intimately. Meet me at twelve by the fountain in the loggia of the tennis court .
“Nina.”
She looked with the eyes of compassion, the far-seeing gaze of innocence unclouded by bitterness or doubt. I gave her all that was best in me, all that was honest, all that was true, and in return she gave me courage, purpose, resolution. I loved her for herself, because she was[309] herself, but more for the things she represented—purity, nobility, strength which I drew from her like an inspiration. It was to her that I owed the will to conquer myself, the purpose to win back my self-respect. I thanked God for her then and I’m thankful now, but I’m more thankful that I’m no longer dependent on her.”
Jane had sunk on the bench again, her head bent and a sound came from her lips. But he did not hear it.
It was at the end of the third dance when Jane, on the arm of Percy Endicott was on her way to the terrace for a breath of air, that Bibby Worthington slipped a note into her fingers. She excused herself and took it to the nearest electric bulb. She knew the handwriting at once. It was in Nina Jaffray’s picturesque scrawl.
“Jane, dear,” it ran. “I must see you for a moment about something which concerns you intimately. Meet me at twelve by the fountain in the loggia of the tennis court .
“Nina.”
She looked with the eyes of compassion, the far-seeing gaze of innocence unclouded by bitterness or doubt. I gave her all that was best in me, all that was honest, all that was true, and in return she gave me courage, purpose, resolution. I loved her for herself, because she was[309] herself, but more for the things she represented—purity, nobility, strength which I drew from her like an inspiration. It was to her that I owed the will to conquer myself, the purpose to win back my self-respect. I thanked God for her then and I’m thankful now, but I’m more thankful that I’m no longer dependent on her.”
Jane had sunk on the bench again, her head bent and a sound came from her lips. But he did not hear it.
